In Fever
by Asphodelle
Summary: Someone has attacked Severus Snape with a curse so powerful it would have been deadly, if not for the intervention of a supposedly Muggleborn witch. Who did this? And what does the mysterious and unsettling Djana Manor have to do with it all?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: If you have read this before, it's becauseI posted it under another name on another site. I'm not using it anymore (the pen name) so here it is now.

The frock coat was black velvet; it was quite fine, with small, immaculate stitching. The amount of wear evident, and the way it was still holding up, was testament to the quality of the garment. The luxury was clue to an exquisite and secret past that few knew of and none would speak of.  
He let her take his wrist in her hand. The velvet was worn smooth on the inside of the wrist, and the genuine silver buttons were tarnished and pitted.  
His hand was clammy, damp. His head resting against her shoulder was inhumanly hot, his stringy hair clinging to the sweat of his brow.  
He made no noise. He was still conscious, but his eyes were closed and he looked uncharacteristically peaceful. Though he could manage a few lumbering steps, she was all but dragging him to the bedchambers.  
The hallway was unearthly cold, with the air a vacuum like a hastily drawn last breath. Like the house itself was waiting to breathe out and slip beyond the veil. The silent rung her ears to the point of distraction, but she had her duty, and kept her eyes on the red carpet lining the maple-coloured wooden floors.  
The portraits on the wall were still and silent, as all Muggle portraits are. They watched with no emotion, their eyes gazing glassily into void, their porcelain hands caressing long-dead puppies and gilded arm-chairs. She cast her eyes from them and onto the door. It was the only she knew was unlocked; the door to a large guest bedroom, at the end of the third story hallway.  
She reached the oak panel and her hand found the age-worn knob. She turned it roughly and opened the heavy door, pulling him into the room behind her.  
There was no fire in the darkened hearth, and, as it was night, the only light that shone through the weathered panes of glass across the room was bluish moonlight. She heaved the dead, panting weight toward the red-canopied four-post bed, and collapsed along with him onto the musty, feather mattress. Once her breath again was hers, she righted him, placing his sickness-heavied head on the dusty pile of pillows. His eyes opened to a blurry slit. They were black and beady with moisture, and closed again as he drew in a quick breath.  
She pulled up the cuff of his woolen trousers, working at the knot at the top of his boots. She fumbled it loose and pulled off the heavy shoe and the black sock, doing the same with the other foot. His feet were frozen as death, and seemed a wrong shade of blue.  
Next, she fumbled with the onyx clasp drawing his heavy cloak closed, releasing it quickly and throwing it impatiently to the wood floor.  
She undid the many silver buttons on his sleeves, and then on the high neck of the coat, then down the waist. She didn't want to disturb him, but had to get him undressed before he burned to death. With effort, she hauled him into a partial sitting position, his head lolling to his shoulder. She flung him over her own shoulder and wrenched the coat from his body. Although quite skinny, he was heavy, much heavier than he looked. She worked in the tight space between them to undo the buttons on his white linen shirt, and then peeled that from him as well. He was positively drenched, and his skin was beyond body heat. She placed him back on the pillow, removing his trousers. He was now just in his black under-trousers, and she rushed to the window.  
With a curse like this, it was at first necessary to get the body temperature down. Immediately. There was a risk of chill, but if the temperature did not fall, his brain would simply burn within his skull.  
The summer air outside did little to help the temperature inside, which seemed to have risen since he had entered the room. She left the door open and rushed to the basement, where there was a locker of ice.  
When she got back up to him, towels and a bucket of ice in tow, he was a little more responsive. His eyes were floating open and closed slowly, and he was reaching up a hand weakly to remove the drenched black hair from his mouth and eyes.  
"Sir?" She said quietly. He took no notice. She sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping ice in a towel and damning herself for being without her wand. She placed the ice first on his head, then on the sides of his neck, and on his chest. His feet were now freezing, and she wrapped them in the heavy burgundy material of the bedspread.  
Exhausted, and having nothing to do now but wait, she collapsed at the foot of the bed, letting sleep overtake her mind.


	2. Chapter 2

She awoke a few hours later to a low moan. The moon had risen above the roof and the room was nearly pitch black.  
"Sir?" She asked quietly.  
"...where?" Was her croaked reply. "I...where"  
"You are in the Djana family mansion, sir"  
"Wh...why"  
"A man, sir, dressed in all black with a mask...a hideous presence..." She stopped, shivering slightly. "You were cursed"  
The voice fell silent, and after a few moments, she faded back into unconsciousness.

When she again woke, quiet light was streaming through the stained window. Night had been kind in its chill, and though she was shivering, when she felt of the man's chest, he was quite a normal temperature. She sat up slowly and gazed at the man.  
He did not stir, his eyes were still behind the white lids, and his breathing was slow and peaceful.  
For the first time she got a good look at him, and in the light, too.  
His skin was pale, not from just the sickness, but it seemed as a norm to the man. He was skinny, but not atrophied, and muscle was evident under the thin skin. The lines of his body and face were smooth. His neck was long and floated gracefully to his pointed chin. His pale, chapped lips were thin and the top lip curled upward at two points. His nose was beakish but thin, with well-placed nostrils. His sunken eyes were graced with long black lashes, but the beauty was betrayed by a heavy, dark brow and small forehead.  
Who was this man? Who attacked him?  
The mystery set not well with her, combined with the fact that she had recently had to move into this dismal mansion. So far she had found-what? -three doors unlocked, as well as the kitchen. And the kitchen was filled with remnants of violence, whether animal or man she could not be sure, with the menacing bloodstains and faint smell of death.  
Could it have been a Death Eater that attacked him? They were supposed to be all gone, right? Voldemort had been defeated by one Harry Potter, who had died as well as his foe. It had been years since there was any substantial violence in the magical world.  
Her eyes chanced to wander to his left forearm. Upon it was a large, silvery scar of no apparent shape.  
But still...perhaps this man himself had been a Death Eater.  
She involuntarily recoiled, standing up from the bed and staring at the sleeping man. The ice around him had melted, and the bed was completely soaked. The smell of the man's musky sweat and the dampening of ancient bird feathers created an old, unpleasant smell.  
She felt of his forehead. The fever had broken, at least for now. The man stirred and she removed her hand promptly, as his black eyes sprang to life.  
He looked immediately at her.  
"Where am I?" His voice was gravely from sickness, and it was evident by the ensuing grimace that his throat was raw from the sickness.  
"Djana Manor, sir"  
He narrowed his eyes at her, not unkindly, but in thought.  
"Yes. And who are you"  
"I think it would likewise be right to ask your name, Sir"  
He looked put out by the demand, but he obliged. "My name is Severus Snape"  
The name...it rung a bell. Old family acquaintance, perhaps?  
"Now your name, please"  
"Antigone Djana"  
"So, then, this is your Manor"  
"Yes, sir"  
" It thank you for your kindness." He mumbled, moving to sit up.  
"What are you doing?" She asked, moving forward and placing a hand on his shoulder. He drew back from her touch.  
"I will no longer trouble you"  
"You are not well enough to leave, yet"  
"Yes I am." He answered simply, and pushed her roughly out of the way. He placed his bare feet on the ground and stood. For a moment he seemed all right, but as he tried to step forward, his toe dragged and he swayed, falling forward. She caught him against her shoulder, and his hand grasped her back for support. He gasped. She helped him back toward the bed.  
"You see"  
He averted his gaze to the window. The sun had risen further, and the light hit hard and sharp against the browned glass.  
"A curse?" He asked, still looking out the window.  
"Morbidius Feverit"  
He looked briefly at her, and his eyes darkened. He looked back toward the window.  
"I'll get you something to eat. What would you like"  
"Nothing, thank you"  
"I'll bring you tea"  
"No!" He looked back at her. "Please. Ice water"  
She smiled softly, nodding her head. "I'll be right back, Mister Snape." 


End file.
